The Birth of a Dreadlady
by leamaryu
Summary: Ever wonder what goes into making a dreadlord? Well, I thought I'd make a story about it. The story begins with a reserved White Aes Sedai and ends with a hedonistic hell raiser. The story might continue if enough people like it.
1. Rebirth

A/N: I just had a flash of inspiration, and had to get it down before going back to my other fic. I'm working on a longer fic that involves Moiraine and Lan in a post-New Spring and Pre-Eye of the World Cairhien. It's long. I'm already on page 12 and I'm only about halfway through the plot I want to put down. I'll post it as soon as I'm done. I enjoy posting and hearing from you all, but I have this naughty habit of dropping stories when I get bored with writing chapters... sad, but that's one of my flaws. This is just a short fic that can grow, or could die here. Either way, it's up to y'all.  
  
Enra stood in the middle of the cobble-stoned street her marble white dress flowing about her in the wind, balls of fire leaping from her hands, flying at the waves of trollocs that were enveloping the city of Dreal'no'rhien. It was one of the most beautiful cities in all of Malkier, and it contained the most detailed library outside of those found in Cairhien, Caemlyn, and Tar Valon. It surpassed those in its study of the shadow and its beasts. That was why she was here; to discover the logic behind the shadow. She was a white, and logic was her life. Until a few days ago, Malkier had been a strong bastion against the Shadow, but now it was falling, and falling fast.  
  
Her only warder, Gym, had died the first day. He had insisted on going out to fight with the army, and the trollocs recognized his cloak, and sought to kill him to incapacitate his Aes Sedai. They almost succeeded, but she had overcome her pain. She had become what most greens dreamed of, a battle queen of old, riding out at the head of the army destroying the enemy before her, and it sickened her.  
  
Before this war, she had been a cool, precise woman whose only passion was logic. She had forsaken all emotion, for its only purpose was to cloud logic. Now, she was letting her emotions ride her. A single tear fell from her eye as the last Malkieri fell with a trolloc spear in his gut. Then, in a wave of rage, she drew all she could from the one power, and began to fling fire and air about carelessly, trying to destroy as much as she could before they managed to kill her. Then a fate worse than death came, as an invisible shield of spirit slid between her and Saidar.  
  
It was impossible! No lone woman could shield her, and very few pairs linked! She turned, fire in her eyes to find who had done this to her, but her knees melted when she saw them. Thirteen women cloaked in black, only their hands visible, with those little golden rings, a mockery of their oaths. Next to the women rode thirteen men, all dressed in black, but something was wrong about them. Their cloaks hung still, as though the winds dared not touch them. It was then that Enra screamed. She turned and tried to run, but flows of air bound her. She was well and truly caught.  
  
A flow rotated her in midair, to face her captors. Spitting defiance to the last, she cursed their light forsaken souls. Remembering a childhood fighting tactic, she gathered the phlegm in the back of her throat, and once she had enough she sent it flying through the air. With a satisfying splat it hit a lurk straight in the spot where his eye should have been. He grimaced, and wiped it away. Then Enra blacked out.  
  
She woke in a large, plush bed, covered by a thick down comforter. Stretching languorously, she looked to all sides, and all she could see were black and red pillows and blankets. Rising from the bed, she channeled a robe from the closet next to the bed. No need to be cold. It was black silk with gorgeous red lace at the hem. It felt amazing on her skin. With a brief flow of fire she lit the fireplace, and instantly heated the entire room. Comfort was her first priority. Her comfort. Out of the corner, a tiny grey head peeked into the room.  
  
Stifling the rage that welled up in her she grabbed the rat with a flow of air, compressed it into a tiny ball, and then hit it with a flow of fire so hot that all that remained of the beast was a fine white powder that floated out of the room through the large window. Funny, that was the first time she had noticed the window. Enra walked to the large marble balustrade, and let her hands rest on the railing. It was a beautiful view, the fires leaping from the ground, multi-colored clouds swirling around the black peak that thrust up into the heavens. The black peak! She should flee... no. She should not flee. That was where her master lived until she could help free him.  
  
She let her right hand rest on her left forearm, the black nails making a stark contrast to her ivory skin. Well, she was obviously no longer a white. With casual ease, she floated a long black dress from the closet, and stepped into it. If she was no longer an Aes Sedai, then their rules no longer held her. She turned her head to see the mirror on the opposite wall, and frowned at how messy her hair was. Using quick, deft flows of air, fire and water, she formed her hair into those beautiful curls that hung about her shoulders, making her auburn hair gleam like jet in some places and flash like fire in others.  
  
Once she was satisfied with her looks, she stepped onto the porch, an aura of the power shinning around her to all who could see it, but that wasn't enough to satisfy her lust for acknowledgement. Spinning a few more complex weaves of air and fire, her hair and clothing flew up as if a funnel of wind surrounded her and to all who could see her, she seemed to be wreathed in dark light. Laughing, she wove another, less complex, weave of air, sending her voice cascading over the bleak land surrounding her new apartments.  
  
"To all who hear my voice. Bear witness to the birth of the Dreadlady Haranfear." Her wild cackle filled the vale and echoed up the slopes of Thakandar, and deep inside Shayol Ghoul the malevolent presence dwelling there began to laugh as well. 


	2. Lessons

A/N: Thank you to the two of you who reviewed, you're amazing, and I am at this moment sending you mental karma cookies. Thank you for the critiques, I need them. You don't know how annoying it is around here. My friends won't read my stuff, non-fiction or otherwise, because they say I intimidate them. Phaw! I just want people who will read it, shred it to pieces, and then tell me it really was good, but needs some work. Is that too much to ask?  
  
Just a quick response about the malkieri. Although most were killed, either on the battle field, or as they fled their homeland, some did make it out. We find mention of them in tEotW, NS, and a few other books... I'm rereading the series, so I'm kinda buffing up on the histories of the characters and the nations. Enra, herself, is not malkieri, but she's studying there. OK, to the story!  
  
A sudden tearing noise was all the warning Enra had, as a tall man all in black stepped through a hole in the air. He would have been a very pretty man, except that his eyes and mouth were filled with flames.  
  
"A wonderful show, and an apt name, Haranfear. Hand of the night? I would have chosen something less... showy, but the Great Lord is pleased." The fire in his face pulsed with what could only be called laughter. Suddenly, his dark face calmed, almost to severity. "From now until the Great Lord is freed, you will call me Ba'alzamon, and you will obey me as if the commands were straight from the lips of the Great Lord. He is pleased with you for now, but the road down is much steeper than the road up, and there might be rocks waiting at the base. My first command is a simple one. Return to Mayene and gain a room at the palace. You must act as you did before the Great lord made you his; you are to be a covert worker for the Lord. While there, you will make contact with your former friends, those street urchins who taught you how to fight and how to steal. Convince them to become your circle. If they are already darkfriends, all well and good, but if not, you will convince them to give their souls to Shai'tan. Then, once you are set within the court, begin introducing your circle into the palace servants, but never let them be directly linked to you. The end goal is to have the First of Mayene assassinated. The Great Lord's plans involve another taking the throne, and after that one has the throne, his daughter will rule. That is more than you needed to know, but as one of your sisters would say, 'I always prefer knowing to not.'" His laugh seemed to fill the chamber, reverberating until Haranfear thought the roof would cave in on them.  
  
Gathering what courage she could, Haranfear looked him in the eyes. "Great Lord, how will I hide my actions, my comings and goings? Mayene is almost as bad as Tear for hatred of Aes Sedai." The idea of returning to what she had been repulsed her. A prim, proper snit who wore only white, even though her complexion was meant for stronger colors. It would be unpleasant to return to that, while hiding her new nature.  
  
"I will have another servant teach you a weave that you will only use to complete the tasks I give you. You will not allow anyone else to learn it, and if I find that suddenly women are using it in the world, you will wish to hurl yourself into the fiery pit, but I won't let you." His flame filled eyes bored into her soul, making her quiver in fear. Before she could ask another question he turned, and with a gesture tore open a hole in the pattern. He disappeared into the hole, leaving Haranfear alone on her porch.  
  
She took a firm hold of herself, and returned to her bedroom, where she began dressing herself. The dresses in the closet were all of the softest silks or satins, and all were in shades of black or red, with a few in deep blues. All colors that made her skin tone stronger, and made her look younger, despite her ageless face. She picked out one that seemed to shimmer in red, and using deft weaves of the Power she laced up the back, and dressed herself. She looked at herself in the mirror and patted the curls piled on top of her head. Behind her, she felt someone channeling the Power, and could see in the mirror a vertical slash of light.  
  
Turning around, her mouth agape, she watched as the slash widened... or turned into a doorway. Out of it, a woman, obviously another former Aes Sedai, stepped. She was dressed regally, in a reddish purple, and wore numerous rings and jewels. The other sister scanned the room, and when her eyes fell on Haranfear, her mouth twisted in distaste.  
  
"Can't they find Aes Sedai with more strength? No matter..." Her eyes lost their focus, and she seemed to drift off in a trance, but before Haranfear could say anything, she snapped her eyes back to her. "You came to the White Tower forty year ago, this spring, spent five as a novice, and six as accepted. You were entered into the books as Enra Sur Fraelon, lately of Mayene. You have just enough strength to weave this, so learn it well, you will get to see it twice. If you fail to learn it, our master will punish you. I might be asked to teach it to you again, and I doubt you would find that pleasurable."  
  
Haranfear was shocked enough to let her jaw drop at that recitation of her past life in the Tower. In a spurt of imagination, she took the regally dressed woman and placed her in brown woolens, and knew who she was.  
  
"Trina Sedai, I remember your class very well. You made me stand in front of the whole class for weeks until I could weave an illusion." The other woman gave a start, and was obviously shocked that another could remember as well as she.  
  
"Well then, I doubt you will need the second lesson. Watch and learn." Then she began to weave. It was an intricate weave, mainly of spirit and fire, that spread across the air in a curtain the size of a regular door. When Trina let the weave finish forming, it snapped into a vertical slash of light, then widened into a door to another place. Cairhien, unless Haranfear missed her guess.  
  
"Thank you, I have it now. Like this, yes?" She wove an almost identical weave, yet focused on a different location. Haddon Mirk. The door snapped open, and as it did, moss covered tree limbs fell with neatly sliced branches, and green swamp water flowed in over the lip of the door. Haranfear flung a wall of air in its path, and then released the doorway. "It will take practice, but that was it, yes?"  
  
The other woman nodded, and made to form another doorway to leave. But Haranfear stopped her with her words.  
  
"Call me Haranfear, or you will regret it, Trina."  
  
A/N: I'm glad you all are liking this... it was just a thing I made up while I was working on the other fic: Devotion... read that one too! 


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